


Cause When We're Touching (We're Caressing Stars)

by Doodsxd



Series: Songs That Won't Let Go [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Plug, Ballet, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Butt Plugs, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, Gay Peter Parker, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Loads of sexual tension, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Peter Parker, Peter is a Little Shit, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Power Play, Protective Tony Stark, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Seduction, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Showing Off, Straight Bruce Banner, Sugar Baby, Sugar Baby Peter Parker, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, Teasing, Training, Underwear Kink, consented invasion of privacy, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodsxd/pseuds/Doodsxd
Summary: “You’re sucking his dick, aren’t you, Parker?” Flash spat with disgust and a dose of amusement. “I bet you’re on your knees for that old man as soon as you get there, licking his shoes clean to get stuff like that.”And while some people laughed and other laughed it off, Peter got mad, because, well, it was unfair. He worked for that - maybe not exactly like it was on his contract, but he earned that stuff, right?… right?
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Songs That Won't Let Go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678144
Comments: 30
Kudos: 608





	Cause When We're Touching (We're Caressing Stars)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liquidsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [[授翻] 因为当我们触摸的时候（我们在抚摸星星）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612959) by [RuanGuoGuo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuanGuoGuo/pseuds/RuanGuoGuo)



> Hello!  
> Once again liquidsky asked and I provided. I hope.  
> She asked for overwhelmed, accidental sugar baby Peter Parker. I'm not sure I did exactly what she asked for, and this grew a lot bigger than I imagined, but. Oh well.  
> Title from Sabrina Claudio's "Orion's Belt". I listened to that one and to Zara Larsson's "Ain't My Fault" while writing it all, basically.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

**Cause When We're Touching (We're Caressing Stars)**

_ by doodsxd _

It wasn’t his fault. 

It really wasn’t. 

Didn’t mean he didn’t get to enjoy it, though. 

________________________________________________________________

It started out with Flash making fun of him because of his new phone. 

Yes, it was a StarkPhone, but technically he was an intern at Stark Industries, so… 

That was normal, right? For work purposes. 

“You’re sucking his dick, aren’t you, Parker?” Flash spat with disgust and a dose of amusement. “I bet you’re on your knees for that old man as soon as you get there, licking his shoes clean to get stuff like that.” 

And while some people laughed and other laughed it off, Peter got mad, because, well, it was unfair. He worked for that - maybe not exactly like it was on his contract, but he  _ earned _ that stuff, right? 

…  _ right? _

He hid his StarkPhone like he hid his doubts: buried deep inside his stuff, never to be found again. 

…. unless Mr. Stark needed him again, of course. 

___________________________________________________________________

He got to the lab that week and Mr. Stark had been tweaking with something that looked awfully like… 

“Is that a new suit?” He asked, and it clearly startled the man because he jumped and let go of the screwdriver he had on his hands. 

“ _ Fuck _ , kid. You should wear a bell.” 

He was  _ not _ going to resent Mr. Stark for calling him a kid. Even though he would be eighteen in like a couple of days. 

“Silent like a spider.” He answered simply, sitting cross-legged beside the man, who was on his knees to reach something around the crotch of the armor and he was  _ absolutely not blushing _ . “Need any help?” 

“This was supposed to be a surprise, but sure.” Mr. Stark sighed. 

They spent a good half an hour passing screws and screwdrivers and phillips around, right until Mr. Barnes walked inside the lab rubbing his hands. 

“Stark, have you seen my... nevermind, found it.” He bent over to get a glove from the floor, and then smiled at Peter. “Hey! Wanna join us?” 

“Training?” Peter asked, trying not to sound too excited. 

“Of a sorts.” Barnes shrugged. “We’re doing something from the Red Room today. Me and Tasha, mostly, I doubt anyone else will be able to keep up. Except for you, maybe,” His eyes raked through Peter’s body in a way that made his cheeks flush and heart beat a little faster. “You have the body for it, at least.” 

“I have?” 

“Oh yeah.” He was smiling a tad too darkly. “Should we head downstairs, then?” 

He looked at Mr. Stark for an answer, and the man just shrugged. “This is just some final touches, kid, I don’t need you here. You wanna go, go.” 

Peter smiled and jumped up, grabbing his backpack from where he left it on the floor. “Are you coming too, Mr Stark?” 

“Later, kid.” He didn’t even look back at him, but it was okay. Mr. Stark was a busy man. 

“Let’s go, Pete.” Bucky put an arm around Peter’s shoulders, and if he hadn’t gone toe-to-toe with him the year before, he’d feel small and weak around the man. As he did, though, he felt just a little warm. “Let’s see what you’re made of.” 

Everyone was there already. Hawkeye was ready for training, as was the Captain, but they were clearly misreading the situation, because the Widow and Mr. Barnes both had dancing clothes on, and Peter’s undersuit fit the activity just fine, so he changed into that. Wanda was there as well, and Mr. Banner, but he was doing yoga and she was apparently just watching. 

“He’ll do just fine.” Miss Romanov told Mr. Barnes as he passed through them, also scanning his body, and what the hell was it with those people? Like honestly. 

Pay him dinner first, at least, amIright? 

But then she put some music on and started on some warm-ups - ballet warm-ups, he knew, because once Ned wanted to test him and dared to keep up with a ballerina from his class and his spider senses were  _ really _ awesome for that, so - and he followed her lead. Mr. Barnes also wasn’t doing his normal thing, keeping with some different moves, more stretching than strength buildup, aiming for precision instead of rawness in his movements. 

“Today we - me and Bucky, at least - are doing something we haven’t done in quite a while. It’s the only nice memory I have from the Red Room.” She announced once she stopped, looking at the trio waiting for her. “I hope you’re ready for some ballet.” 

“Ballet?” Hawkeye scoffed and chuckled. “Seriously, Nat?”

“I trains precision of movement, stealth, and, why not, some grace.” She shrugged. “Not to mention some muscles you’re not even aware are there, most of the time.” 

“Nat, I don’t think-” The Captain started, but she only needed to raise a finger to shut him up. 

“None of us has nothing of more importance to do.” The Widow reminded him. “Don’t ditch it until you have tried it.” 

And so the music was on, and she was the absolute lead. 

After some warming pliés and élevés, they got to leg lifts - and that’s where both the Captain and Hawkeye started to sweat, for different reasons. Mr. Barton, Peter knew, only had standard training, so he was using some very underused muscles from his back. The Captain had a lot of raw strength in his bulky muscles, but that meant he lacked the flexibility, which could be of use to him. After all, it was the only advantage the Winter Soldier ever had over him: precision of movement. 

“You did this before.” Natasha accused him, taking him from his wandering mind, on their first water break. 

Peter didn’t bother denying. “A friend dared me.” 

“And your spider senses help with balance, I suppose.” Mr. Barnes added, re-doing his ponytail behind his back. 

“Yes, that too.” He admitted with a smile. 

“Come on, don’t be shy.” Natasha pushed him towards the barre. “Show us your split.” 

He flushed. “I’m not sure…” 

“Come on, Spidey.” Mr. Barton was smiling at him, a little mocking. “Show me and Cap what we’re lacking.” 

“Hey,  _ I _ can do that.” Mr. Barnes protested, a little frown between his brows. He looked weirdly like a kicked puppy. 

“Shall we make a little bet, then?” Natasha was smiling, shark-like. 

He got chills. 

“I bet on Peter.” Bruce’s voice could be heard from where he was. 

“Me too.” Natasha took a fifty from inside her collant and Peter didn’t really want to wonder about that. 

“I bet on Bucky.” Mr. Rogers leaned against a pillar, smiling. 

“Me too!” Mr. Barton raised his arm. “Wanda?” 

“Why would I bet on a newbie?” She shrugged. “I bet on Barnes.” 

“Alright, let’s begin. Split competition, Winter Soldier  _ versus _ Spider man.” 

“We should also do spins, just for kicks.” Mr. Barnes didn’t seem all that interested in winning anything. It was training, and if the others wanted to be - well, idiots? - and bet on stupid things to have their fun, then it was none of their business. 

Mr. Barnes went first. His split was a little hard, but he went down easy. Miss Romanov could fit two training blocks underneath his calves before he reached his limit. 

He stood up and massaged his hips a little. 

And then they were all waiting. Looking at him. 

“Hm.” He bit his lip, flushing. “I… I don’t think we can pile up enough blocks without them falling.” 

Natasha laughed and Clint cursed, and  _ that’s _ how he ended up with a leg hoisted on each Super Soldier in the room, doing a split that by all accounts should be impossible for someone who didn’t grew up doing them, but. Oh well. 

“Bucky, you forgot your glo-” Mr. Stark walked in and whatever he was holding was on the floor in a second, along with his jaw. 

“Hi Mr. Stark!” Peter was smiling, not even sweating, because that was his  _ thing _ , okay? He was  _ flexible _ . And strong, but he definitely didn’t have the size to show  _ that _ one off, like the Soldiers had. 

“What the fuck are you doing with my intern?” 

“Ballet bet.” Mr. Banner stopped beside Mr. Stark, smiling smugly. “And I just won.” 

“We’re splitting, Bruce.” Miss Romanov corrected him. 

“ _ He’s _ splitting, holy fuck.” Mr. Barton was still looking at him in awe. “That shouldn’t be  _ possible _ .” 

Peter shrugged and was put back on the floor by Mr.s Barnes and Rogers, shaking himself off a little. 

“Now spins?” The Widow asked. “Another bet?” 

“No need, I’m betting on him, so,” Winter Soldier smiled. “Let’s do this one just for the fun.” 

Peter smiled back and waited for the music. As before, Mr. Barnes went first, going as far as ten consecutive spins before he missed on the strength and used too much, ending up on the floor. 

Peter helped him up with one arm only - he grunted something, like an old man, and he laughed - before it was his turn. 

And once he started, honestly, it was the same as riding above New York with his webs, it was just… exhilarating. Something he could do all day, all night, and never tire of, like his soul and his body finally connected with something. 

He got as far as twenty six when the music ended and he heard someone clap, so he stopped. 

“Okay, you’re the whole package, I’m out.” Mr. Barnes threw his arms out, but it was playful, so he didn’t take offense on it. 

“I don’t have size.” Peter shrugged. “I’m definitely underestimated on strength because of that.”

“What’s the problem with that?” Mr. Barnes was frowning. 

“Means you’re attacked by surprise more often, because you’re seen as weak and non-threatening.” Miss Romanov answered for him. 

“Also, you don’t get the girls.” Mr. Rogers added, making Peter blush. “Or the boys, or anyone, really.” 

“I don’t think our Peter here has any trouble on that department, right, Pete?” And he  _ knew _ Mr. Barton wanted to be encouraging, clapping him on the back, but it just made something stir a little further on his belly, watching how Mr. Stark and Mr. Banner were talking and looking at him. 

They were just so  _ close _ . 

He’d give an arm to be that close to Mr. Stark, too. 

He’d give the other to be the  _ only _ person that close to Mr. Stark. 

“Leave the boy alone, Clint.” The Widow put her arm around his shoulders, too, and pulled him to the side where Mr. Barnes was already waiting for them. 

“Let’s do some jumps and lifts, okay?” She proposed, and he nodded, if only to take his mind out of that dark path. 

And if it was funny that he could hold Mr. Barnes up by the foot with one arm while he lifted Miss Romanov up on the standard ballet lift by the waist, well. 

That was just an added bonus of it all. 

________________________________________________________________________

He got accepted to MIT. 

He got accepted to MIT, and he didn’t have the money to pay tuition. 

The letter of acceptance had been tucked, hidden inside his things for a week. 

He didn’t have the heart to ask for aunt May for the money, because he knew she didn’t have it, and she’d want to make a loan, and he was already enough of a burden as it was. 

And if  _ he _ got a loan, well, he’d spend his whole life trying to pay it, and just the thought put chills on his spine. What if he couldn't pay it, after all? What if he ruined himself and maybe another person by trying and failing to pay?

And then, by Tuesday he received a call. 

“Your tuition was paid in advance, Mr. Parker.” The admission office’s representative repeated when he asked. “We just wanted to know if you’d like to see the campus premises beforehand so we can assign you your preferred accommodations for the following year.” 

He just. Dropped the phone. 

“But that’s normal, right?” He asked Ned the following day, during lunch. “I mean, I’m his intern, I’m also like a side part of the Avengers, and he’s always donating scholarships all around.” 

“True.” Ned agreed, chewing on a tortilla. “But who in the world can say that they’re  _ three _ of those things you mentioned? Not to say you’re the only one aside from Banner who works  _ directly _ with him. Like, in his personal space and all.” 

Peter bit his lip, considering, and hoping Ned would just let the conversation die like the good friend that he was.

_______________________________________________________________________

The thing is, Peter didn't care about money. Of course it was cool and nice to have his tuition paid and less to worry about between part-time jobs and the Spider gig to help around with aunt May, who he  _ knew _ didn’t have all that money to begin with, no matter how much she hid it from him. 

But to have a man like Tony Stark backing his every step… was almost too much. To know that a proverbial  _ emperor _ like him would most likely give him the world in a silver platter if only he asked just  _ right _ . 

Mr. Stark didn’t know how to do things halfway, and taking someone under his wing was one of those things. 

And while he didn’t really want to be a charity case, he also couldn’t help but wonder just  _ how far _ that thing would go. The willingness, the hints - until Mr. Stark asked for something back. 

It gave him goosebumps, but he knew he couldn’t take that thought back. 

_ I’d give him anything. _

________________________________________________________________________

In the end what got to him was that he was taken care of. 

He was provided for, looked after; Stark’s presence a warm blanket all around him, a net preventing his fall at all times. A shoulder to cry on, someone who was there for him, but who demanded little to nothing in return. 

“It’s getting ugly, Pete.” Ned warned once, when Mr. Stark dropped him off personally at is school so they could talk on the way there. 

“What?” Peter asked him, even though he knew the answer.

“It’s all over your face.” Ned slurped on his boxed juice. “Either do something or get over it.” 

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” 

“Maybe you can test it out?” His friend wisely asked. “See if he wants you back. You’re eighteen already, there’s nothing in your way.” 

Peter licked his lips. 

Maybe he could work with that. 

________________________________________________________________________

In the end he didn’t even have to ask. Miss Romanov caught up that he  _ really _ enjoyed dancing, and that, for him, it would be incredibly beneficial as training. 

“It’s also good if you’re ever on spy mission.” She told him as she got the equipment ready for the music. “Any added skill you have may be useful in that scenario, and who knows what your future holds.”

“You just wanna have an apprentice, Tasha.” Mr. Barnes looked amused, but also interested in the whole dynamics, like it was something he missed. Training with heroes was usually pretty straightforward; maybe he missed the darker parts of his past, just a little; the power that came with being able to trick and seduce people into doing what he wanted of them, no punches involved, just a dance of minds. 

“Maybe.” She hit him on the chest lightly. “We need more stealth people. I can’t do it all alone anymore, and you’re all too flashy and awkward to do it properly.” 

“Count on spiders to stay hidden in plain sight.” Dr. Banner had been meditating behind them, added with a small smile.

“Precisely.” Miss Romanov agreed with a smile and turned to Peter. “Shall we begin?” 

“Uh. Sure.” He agreed, knowing he was about to delve into some very dark waters, but. He was with people who liked and valued him, and he was safe. “Let’s start.” 

____________________________________________________________________

She started with stretching and warming up, and Mr. Barnes went back to his punching bag, promising to come back later. 

Then the routine was an easy one - a few moves, a little more flowy than he was used to. Even ballet was a little stiffer, a little less undulation of his body, and weirdly enough, the curvier the movement, the more control it demanded from his muscles so it didn’t look entirely square and  _ wrong _ on the mirror. 

Then it got a little awkward. 

“Can’t we just-” He hesitated, looking around. “Change rooms?” 

“If you’re embarrassed here, with the people who know you, it’ll be even worse outside with strangers.” She explained. “Your body has to get used to processing shame without losing the beat, or else you’ll never be able to do it properly, especially if you have to dance or seduce someone to save one of us and we’re in the room.”

“Tasha, he’s seventeen.” Mr. Barton reminded her. 

“It’s just dancing. I’ve seen younger people doing things like this on dance classes, stop being a prude.” She chastised him. 

“Hm, actually, I’m eighteen.” He announced awkwardly. 

“What?” Barton frowned. “When?” 

“Hm, last week? I mean, it’s no big deal.” 

“Wait for Stark to hear about this.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Focus.” The Widow came to him and hugged him briefly. “Congratulations, honey. Later we should go out to celebrate.”

“Thanks.” He smiled back. 

“Do you want to continue with the-”

“Yes.” Peter nodded, resolute. “May be a little awkward for me, but like you said, it can be useful. I don’t want to know I could have done something and didn’t because I felt a little embarrassed to train.” 

Her smile couldn’t be more proud. “You see, the secret is to pretend that you believe everything you’re doing, no matter what.” She explained as she showed him a few moves, and Peter was Very Gay, Thank You, and he was still  _ looking _ . 

It was impossible  _ not _ to look. 

“O...kay?” Peter tried once, but it wasn’t  _ right _ , still. 

And then Mr. Stark came into the room, going straight for Dr. Banner, but it didn’t really matter because he was  _ in the room _ . 

“If I can teach you one thing is something I brought from Russia with me. Americans are too afraid of their bodies, of flirting, of sexuality in general. It’s not supposed to be dirty or shameful, it’s just nature.” She spoke as Mr. Barnes approached. 

“You’re teaching him the Joey?” He asked, looking surprised. 

“Somebody has to.” The Widow rolled her eyes. “You’re all clueless.”

“I trained with you, Tasha.” Mr. Barnes reminded her. 

“In combat, not in this.” She replied. 

“Alright, I’m not questioning you.” He raised his hands in surrender. “You’re clearly the best at this.”

“Yes, well.” Her smile turned evil. “I can train you both.”

Mr. Barnes frowned. “I can do it.”

“With  _ women _ , maybe, because your looks do half the work for you.” She pointed out. “But what about  _ men _ ?” 

He worried his lower lip a little, eyes pointedly  _ not _ going to the Captain on the other side of the room. 

“Alright.” Was his answer, and somehow it made it a little less awkward for Peter too. “Go ahead.” 

She started small, as she should. Some generic hip and hand moves, positions to stand, ways to walk and to emphasize the best they had, which was  _ very  _ different for him and Mr. Barnes, mainly because of their different body types. 

“So, if you’re dancing, you’re both doing very different things. Bucky, you have to think hip-hop, Magic Mike stuff. Peter, I’m sorry to say but you have to think Beyoncé.” She adjusted his stance with a hand on his belly to get his ass out a little more. “Like this. For now, you’re young and not that big, so the way to go is a little more feminine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a twink, I know.” He redid the set with Beyoncé in mind, more curves and less startled power. Because Mr. Stark was  _ still _ there, and even if he wasn’t looking, Peter would damn well make sure there was  _ something _ to look at. 

“Atta boy.” Miss Romanov clapping her hands, smiling. “That’s amazing, you learn so fast.” 

“In the Red Room we had dummies.” Mr. Barnes fell deliberately to the floor, sitting cross-legged. “They’d get random men from the streets for us, mainly the girls, to train with them.” 

“Sounds a little cruel.” Peter sat beside him. “I mean. With the girls.”

“It was.” Miss Romanov admitted. “But it’s one of the best ways to learn, if you want to.” Then she looked around, calling Mr. Rogers. “Hey, Steve! Come out here!” 

“Seriously, Tasha?” Mr. Barnes hissed and Peter couldn’t help but giggle. 

“What’s up?” He asked, innocent and clueless, as he jogged to them. 

“We’re doing a little training and we need… a dummy, so to speak.” She explained with a smile. 

“Alright.” He put himself in position to fight. “What do I do?” 

“Sit on that chair.” She told him and he did so, and Peter turned to look. 

He thought he knew what was coming, Peter noticed. Despite looking relaxed, Captain Rogers had a slight twitch to his muscles that told them he was ready for a fight.

He wasn’t ready to get a lapful of Black Widow, breasts pressed to his chest, lips hovering right over his. 

She leaned back, and back, and  _ back _ , forcing him to hold her by her hips so she wouldn’t fall, his eyes inevitably following the line from the column of her throat to her thighs sitting over his. 

She came back with half-hooded eyes, and no matter how aware the Captain was, his eyes still caught on her lips as she bit them. 

So much so that he didn’t notice her leg coming up to wrap around his neck and tumble him from the chair in her classic move, ready to suffocate him or snap his neck, whatever came first. 

Even as she let him go and both him and Mr. Barnes chuckled, he could see Mr. Rogers had a least a chub inside his sweats, and while Peter had absolutely no interest in the man, the whole ordeal was interesting. 

Could it be that simple? Even with a man like Mr. Stark, who probably already seen it all? 

“Alright, you’re teaching Stark’s intern the Joey.” Mr. Rogers conceded as he stood up. “My mistake.” 

“You never learned.” Miss Romanov said smugly. “He’s a very good student.” 

“Stark’s killing you.” Mr. Barnes reminded her. 

“No he’s not.” She dismissed with a shrug. “It may as well save Peter’s life.” 

“Yeah, well.” Mr. Barnes stood back up. “Get some Beyoncé on, I wanna know if I can pull the twink thing off too.”

And if Mr. Rogers stayed behind watching Mr. Barnes, well, Peter would get his smirk under control. 

Miss Romanov put another song on and Peter shut his eyes, thinking of the dance sequence she gave them. He took a deep breath, like she taught him, and imagined Mr. Stark’s eyes on him, the way he felt like Icarus reaching for the sun whenever the man smiled his way. 

Then he  _ moved _ . 

He could see Miss Romanov and Mr. Barnes following with him, Mr. Barnes’ eyes on him to try to imitate the sinuous, languid movements, hers filled with mirth and pride that he learned so well, that he was so willing and ready to take on anything she threw at him. And he was, really - he was honoured any of them felt like giving him a glimpse of attention, imagine dance and spying lessons. 

And he could almost  _ taste it _ , giving himself to the music; Mr. Stark’s neck sweating under his lips, his eyes raptly taking him in. In his mind, Peter danced just for him, every slow movement, every throw of his hips, all for the man who gave him everything, but still Peter wanted to ask him for a little more, for the only thing he hadn’t given him yet. 

Peter wanted  _ everything _ , and so he let the feeling wash over him, the music wash over him, guiding what he had already memorized before, just with more  _ soul _ and less  _ thought _ . 

“Yeah, I can’t compete with that,” Mr. Barnes brought him out of his trance, smiling. “Not like that, anyway. I can’t pull off Beyoncé like that.” 

And then he noticed some people clapping around him, and before he could look, Miss Romanov’s arm sneaked around his neck. “That was amazing. You’re a natural.” She told him loudly, and then lowered her voice. “Don’t worry. He saw it all.” 

Peter blushed and bit his lip, looking around to see Mr. Stark, the grip on the tablet on his hand making his fingers look white even from that far away. 

His gaze was dark, and if Peter was the prey in that scenario, he was more than ready to be devoured. 

____________________________________________________________________________

His suit was ready the next day, sleek and filled with everything Peter didn’t even know he needed.

___________________________________________________________________________

He went out with every Avenger but Mr. Stark that Friday, celebrating his late birthday with hamburgers and milkshakes. 

And then they got into a club and Thor snuck him some ale - “Even children drink ale in Asgard!”, he boomed, but Peter was clearly not an asgardian because a glass was all it took to get him dancing. He was on his second bottle of water when Mr. Rogers came back from the bathroom and Mr. Barnes walked up to him, not letting him get back to the table where he had been sitting all night. 

“Watch that,” Miss Romanoff - “ _ Natasha _ , Peter, we’re on first name basis, chill” - told him, taking a swing of her beer. 

And what else could Peter ever do when the Winter Soldier threw a smoldering look towards Captain America and coaxed his hands to his hips, guiding him on a dance that, despite being somewhat innocent, certainly promised some very  _ not innocent _ things to happen later.

He used all of Natasha’s tips, the hip throwing, the hair, the eyes, directing Mr. Roger’s eyes with discrete framing movements, and he followed like an enamoured puppy - probably because he  _ was _ .

And then Zara Larsson was on and as much as Peter wanted to watch, he also wanted to dance, so he stood up, grabbing her hand. 

“Come on, it’s my birthday!”

“Wasn’t it last week?” She looked amused. She also wasn’t drunk, which was outrageous, but whatever. 

“Semantics.” He tsked. “Come on!” 

And Mr. Stark wasn’t there, and yes, he was all Peter wanted, but if he couldn’t have him, he’d at least make himself feel better by doing some of what Mr. Barnes was currently doing, melting another person into a puddle of goo and lust with his Master’s diligent teachings. 

She went with him up to a point, but when he was dancing in between two other boys she left him for the table again. And he didn’t even need to  _ do _ anything; dancing and throwing some looks around had been more than enough to get him sandwiched between two guys just a little older than him, probably college kids, both set on getting him on their bed that night. 

And then the crowd opened, cheering, as Tony Stark walked in. 

Peter lost his breath, his cool, his  _ everything _ . 

“Excuse me, fellas, but can I have a word with the birthday boy?” He asked the boys around Peter, who both went, lamenting the loss of the  _ hot twink _ to Stark, and how unfair it was, all the while Peter was choking on his tongue. 

“Happy Birthday, Peter,” He was smiling, and looking blindingly gorgeous, and handing Peter a box, and what was he supposed to do with his hands, again? 

“T-thanks.” He was sure he was blushing as he grabbed the box, a little confused. 

There was only one thing inside, and his drunk mind took a while to register what it meant.

“You-” He blinked, thinking again. “You got me a  _ car _ ?” 

“What’s that?” Mr. Barton came from the bathroom right behind them, looking. He whistled. “Got him a ride, huh?” 

“Ordinary eighteen birthday gift.” Stark was smirking. 

“We should go outside to see.” Mr. Barton said and Peter nodded, stupid, as he went to the table to warn the others to come, too.

And he didn’t need to look much - it was blue, sleek and gorgeous, and all Peter never thought he’d  _ ever _ have. 

“It’s a Tesla, I hope you like those.” Mr. Stark was saying, a confident smile on his lips, and fuck it all. “I thought you’d appreciate the environment benefits.” 

Peter walked forward, touching the smooth hood, feeling a devotion he had never felt at all before, completely overwhelmed by the sheer  _ feelings _ , that when he caught himself, he had already framed Mr. Stark’s face with his hands and leaned in, kissing the man. 

Mr. Stark didn’t move, at first - and when it felt like he was  _ going to _ , when his lips opened, maybe to kiss back, maybe to talk Peter out of it,  _ something _ , they heard Mr. Barton’s voice coming from behind them, and Mr. Stark jumped back, letting go of Peter completely. 

“Fuck, it’s a Tesla, isn’t it?” Mr. Barnes, the only one there besides the Widow who knew  _ anything _ about cars, moved to touch it with his flesh hand, the other still tangled with Cap’s. 

“What does that mean?” Mr. Rogers asked, trying to get in the loop. 

“It’s more expensive than most of Tony’s cars.” Miss Romanov put a hand on Mr. Stark’s shoulders, a knowing smile on her lips. “Because Tony takes care of what’s his.” 

“Can we go for a ride?” Mr. Barton asked Peter, who was confused for a moment before he remembered. 

It was  _ his _ car. 

“Yes?” He looked at Mr. Stark for reassurance, and the man was smiling, looking genuinely happy and  _ soft _ that he had made Peter so happy, in a way that made his chest clench painfully in longing and  _ love _ . 

With trembling hands he got the keys and got himself  _ in _ the car while the others piled up on the backseat, Mr. Stark on the passenger seat with Miss Romanov across on his lap. 

He turned the car on and the smooth hum of the engine, on top of everything else about that night, almost made him cream his pants. 

“Are we going to Stark Tower?” Thor asked, handling a lapful of Mr. Barton, and life was funny like that. 

“We better.” Mr. Rogers breathed almost inaudibly from behind Peter, Mr. Barnes on his lap. 

He got beet-red when Peter laughed, being the only other person in the car able to hear a sound that low. 

“I’m sorry, but no.” He answered, feeling like a king, the King of the fucking world, now that Mr. Stark gave him all the keys. “I’m giving you a tour of my favorite part of the city.”

And so he drove and parked near to the Brooklyn Bridge. He got everyone up the Bridge pillars - even Thor didn’t bring his hammer to a night out - and they all sat there, observing as the night went by from one of the most beautiful places, at least for Peter. 

“Happy birthday, young padawan.” Natasha was smiling brightly, kissing his cheek, and half of them couldn’t save themselves if they fell, trusting Peter to get them up and down safely, and his heart couldn’t fit inside his chest. 

He smiled, watching the city live on as he lived by. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Peter had barely researched prices for drones - he and Ned wanted to make some cool videos of him jumping around New York without all the clattering a camera would make if attached to him - when a Stark Enterprises one, sleek, black and looking  _ expensive _ , out of line stuff crafted by the man itself, was handed to him by the man himself. 

He had been training - regular, then dancing - when Mr. Stark came from the elevators, grease staining his arm and cheek, black undershirt and beige sweats on. 

He made a beeline to Peter, this time, stopping him while he practiced the pirouettes. 

“Camera’s already hooked to your computer.” He said simply as Peter held the device sheepishly. 

“What?” He asked, a little confused, heart beating fast on his throat. 

“I’m not letting you spend your hard-earned money on some cheap-ass, breakable, and overall  _ nasty _ piece of junk of drone on Amazon.” He declared as if it was obvious, sending a look Natasha’s way. “I take care of what’s mine, Peter.” 

He left before Peter could say another word, feeling warm all over, warm and melting in a way he had  _ never _ felt before, ready to lay down and let Mr. Stark  _ ruin _ him forever, because he didn’t want anything else anyway, never would, not like  _ this _ . 

Natasha’s hands found his shoulders, her mouth the devil on his shoulder. “Told you, Peter.” Her smile was impish. “He’s been watching.” Then she pointed up, and Peter thought,  _ Jarvis _ , feeling breathless. 

He knew Mr. Stark wouldn’t, and Jarvis’ own protocols wouldn’t, but he just  _ wished _ the man had  _ watched _ him, fresh from the shower, hand around his cock. Wondered if he could make a show out of it. 

“I guess he has.” Peter answered her, hugging the drone close to his chest, trying to remember how to breathe. “I guess he has.” 

______________________________________________________________________________

His following training session met him with his locker packed with four of the same training garment. 

It was tight, and Peter just  _ knew _ it had no added benefit other than making his ass look out of this world when he tilted it just  _ right _ in front of the mirror, perhaps even more enticing than bare flesh would be because of the  _ almost _ there, the temptation of the thin fabric hugging and framing his every line perfectly. 

It got Natasha looking. It got Banner looking from right beside her, an arm around her waist, like he couldn’t bear not to touch anything. It got Barton missing a couple of arrows and Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes sneaking touches which he caught on the mirror, deliberately looking for them as he followed through the routine, up and down, side and side,  _ bend _ and  _ roll up _ slowly. 

Because he saw how the others looked at him, harmlessly admiring without any intention to touch, but all he cared about was the cameras on the corners of the room, capturing everything for the King’s sole pleasure. 

And  _ oh _ , how Peter  _ wanted _ to  _ please _ that King. 

______________________________________________________________________________

“Jarvis,” He asked after his shower, tying up his shoes. 

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” 

“You have privacy protocols, right?” He looked up, even though he knew there was no need. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Peter hummed. “Can one override them?” He asked. 

“With a specific request, yes.” Javis answered, seeming to just  _ know _ . “Not to violate others’ privacies, but to give up your own.” The AI completed. 

He opened a small smile. “So you know what I wanna do.”

The machine didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

“Think I’m making a mistake?” He asked, standing up and grabbing his backpack, ready to leave.

Javis’ voice sounded way less innocent than any AI should. “No, sir.” It honestly sounded like Jarvis was smiling. 

“Why not?” Peter asked. 

The answer didn’t disappoint. 

“Because Mr. Stark takes care of what’s his, sir.”

It was all Peter really needed to know.

“Do it.” 

________________________________________________________________________

Next thing he knew, he received a packaging in the mail that made him flush from the chest. 

_ Underwear _ . Silk, lace, sheer, see-through and opaque that had the bottom of his ass peeking out just  _ so _ . They were all his size and all perfect. 

It took some amount of hiding from aunt May and washing them by hand after shower, but he wore all of them, ditching his regular underwear for the time being. 

And if he walked around his room with the laptop on, camera following him, wearing  _ only _ the underwear, well. 

That was only for him and Mr. Stark to know. 

__________________________________________________________________________

That gave him an idea, though.

He called Ned one of those days, complaining about how he wasn’t able to buy some jeans, or another bullshit, because aunt May didn’t have the cash for it right then, but how it was important to him to buy them before they went out because he looked  _ so good _ on those jeans, and, well.

Two days later a man on a black suit, who later he’d find out - through Flash’s complaints, of all things - was the CEO of a honest to God  _ bank _ , would approach him inside his school, a small box on his hands. 

“We are very grateful that you chose to bring your business to our bank, Mr. Parker,” The man said, right in front of Peter’s class’ door, startling him and everyone around him. 

“We hope you enjoy the experience, and here is my personal phone. You can call me anytime, if anything goes askew, alright?” His smile was a little forced, but he sounded honest, despite it. 

“Thanks.” He answered with a baffled smile, taking the box and the card. 

The man left, and Ned looked over Peter’s shoulder as he opened the box. 

Inside, a cuban cigar, an engraved flask, and a credit card.

_ Usufruct: Peter Parker _

_ Account holder: Anthony E. Stark _

_ Credit type: Unlimited _

Ned whistled and chuckled. 

“You landed the richest fucking billionaire in the whole country, Pete.” He teased, jabbing him with his elbow. “You really can’t do anything halfway, can you, my friend?” 

Peter smiled. 

“Neither can he.” 

_________________________________________________________________________

That afternoon he walked right into a Sex Shop. 

He got himself a few things - an ohmibod, a regular plug, glass plug, a couple of dildos, a vibrator, lube.

He wanted to explore. Wanted to get a taste of what it felt like, to be ready and  _ proficient _ when the time came. 

He also wanted to see how long until Mr. Stark would break. 

Peter made a point of looking at the place’s security cameras before he left the store, winking. 

Natasha was right. It was all about confidence. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

“You’re sweating quite a lot there, Peter.” Mr. Barnes noticed, finally sitting on Mr. Roger’s lap casually. They should have been doing that from the start. “Are you OK?” 

“Yes.” He answered, perhaps too fast. 

“Are you sick?” Natasha asked, a trained eye on him. 

“Just… nervous.” He admitted, because saying that it was  _ nothing _ just wouldn’t cut it with those people. 

“About what?” The Widow crossed her arms over her chest, considering him. 

“I have a request to make.” He licked his lips. “And I’m not sure how you’ll take it.” 

She prompted him forward and he whispered the dreaded words on her ear. 

Her smirk was  _ brilliant _ when he got back to gauge her reaction, and her eyes weren’t  _ only _ on him. 

“Oh, Steve.” She cooed, laughing. “You are going to  _ love _ this.” 

_____________________________________________________________________________

They only needed to ask Jarvis and all security cameras shut down. Still, Peter put some web over them, just in case Mr. Stark got too  _ insistent _ . 

“It’s for the best.” Jarvis approved. “Just take them out afterwards, please.” 

“Of course, buddy.” Peter smiled and got back down on the floor where Dr. Banner, Natasha, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes already waited for him. 

The Widow turned the music on,  _ Orion’s Belt _ , the beat slow and grave, instantly making Peter wanting to dance. 

“I’ll demonstrate on Bruce, who kindly offered himself as a dummy for this.” She explained, getting him to sit down on the chair, Mr. Rogers still holding Mr. Barnes on his lap, both looking domestic and comfortable. “Then I’ll be your dummy, and Steve will be Bucky’s. Ready?” She asked them, and honestly, none of them were actually  _ ready _ for anything like that. Willing and eager, yes, but ready? Fuck  _ no. _

Because when the Black Widow moved, she  _ moved _ , and between two bissexuals, one gay and one heterossexual guy in the room, they had no chance from the start. 

She circled Dr. Banner’s chair, tips of her fingertips grazing his arm, his shoulders. In front of him, she got on her knees, crawling to him in curls and twirls that made her look fluid and mesmerizing. 

Then her hands reached his calves, making her way back to a straight position, throwing her head back and arching her back, making her way back in a circular movement as her hands made their way up his thighs. 

And while Doctor Banner was a very controlled man, it was visible the effect she was having on him, his eyes, his breath, inside his pants. But there was no teaching any of this without that being the real thing. They all knew that. 

She parted his thighs to kneel between them, coming up with her body undulating, a snake in the air, graceful and deadly, hands on her hair like she couldn’t contain herself, making their way down,  _ down _ her breasts and pelvis, other hand getting Banner’s and guiding it to retrace the same path. His other came up on its own accord, cupping her cheek, tracing her lips, and she sucked his digits in right before moving her legs and straddling the Doctor. 

Natasha did the same she done with Mr. Rogers, letting her back arch, head fall, until he had to support her by her lower back with his hands. Unlike Rogers, he didn’t stay completely passive, letting his head down on her body as she moved, face sliding from her breasts to her stomach, moving back up when she straightened herself, hands on her hair again, messing with it as if desperation took her, and  _ fuck _ . 

He exchanged a look with Mr. Barnes, and he just  _ knew _ the same thought was going through his head: that was too intimate, Natasha and Doctor Banner dancing around each other for a long time. Peter felt privileged to have been allowed by both of them to witness it, this coming together of people who wanted each other so much it looked like it  _ hurt _ . 

Her hips drawed little circles over his crotch, a very clear suggestion of what clothes were in the way of, and she looked  _ gorgeous _ , and Doctor Banner rightfully hypnotized by the sight, lust and affection pouring off of him like pheromones. No one could blame him. 

Then the Widow got a hand on the backrest of his chair and she turned around, undulating her body up and down, ass over his crotch still. She was sweating, he was sweating, they were  _ all _ too hot inside that very well conditioned room. 

Banner’s hands rested on her waist in a request that she granted, finally resting on his lap, moving only the bare necessary to keep dancing to the tune, circular movements rolling her whole body, nipples peeking from her training gear. 

When the song finished, Doctor Banner had a wet spot on his yoga sweats, and Mr. Rogers was holding Mr. Barnes a little too hard - not that he seemed to mind. 

“Okay,” Natasha looked a little dazed, a little breathless. If Peter wasn’t that desperate to learn, he’d make her go after Doctor Banner, who understandably excused himself to go to the bathroom. “Shall we start?” 

They started off just memorizing and training the moves, no music; just to get the blood flowing and the body used to moving in a certain way, feeling a certain way. 

Then Doctor Banner came back, different sweats on, and sat beside them to watch. 

“Bruce, be a dear and put the music on.” Natasha asked, sitting and waiting for Peter, just as Mr. Rogers prepared, looking a little nervous, but determined to go through with it. 

Peter once again let his eyes shut, just feeling as the song rolled over them, prompting his body to  _ move. _

She corrected him here and there, called Bucky on his stance, but other than that, the room was silent. The mirror said it all; Mr. Rogers could barely keep his hands off of Mr. Barnes’ body, and Natasha’s pupils doubled size since he begun, so he counted it as doing well. 

Rogers and Barnes dismissed themselves by the middle of the second attempt at the routine, and Peter was the only one who could still hear their noises coming from the bathroom as he finished it and did it once more, just to give them the time to finish, too. 

“Are you surprising him?” Doctor Banner asked as Natasha settled on his lap on the floor. 

Peter took a sip of water. He didn’t need to explain who. 

“Hopefully.” Peter answered and Banner smiled at him, kissing Natasha’s temple as she tucked herself against him. And they looked so blissfully happy, Peter almost felt out of place there, if weren’t for the tender smiles they were sending his way. “You two look good together.” He said, getting on the wall to uncover the cameras before leaving. 

The Doctor was smiling. “I think so, too.”

And Peter was happy, really happy for them, to witness it, to be the one who indirectly got them together like that. 

But now he had a challenge to face, and he could only hope he was up to it with so little training. 

“You’ll knock his socks off, Peter.” Natasha’s voice comforted him as he walked towards the door. “You already do without even trying. I can’t imagine what it’ll do to him when you  _ do _ try.” 

Peter smiled and left, hoping he could impress the man who already had everything. 

_________________________________________________________________________

“I’d suck Mr. Stark off for a Rolex.” He told Ned absentmindedly, phone pointedly nearby. Ned chuckled, knowing it wasn’t an exaggeration - he’d suck Mr. Stark off for way less - even though people around them didn’t. They thought it was an expression, like one would say ‘I’d give an arm to have X’.

Little did they know.

______________________________________________________________________

The card attached the Rolex’s box only said  _ You owe me something. -T. _

Peter spent the whole night awake, rubbing his lips together, trying to imagine what  _ that _ would feel like. 

_____________________________________________________________________

That morning he shut his laptop and put his phone underneath his pillow as he got dressed. 

He just hoped the surprise was appreciated. 

_____________________________________________________________________

“No training today?” Mr. Stark asked him as he entered the lab, going for his desk to catch up on some paperwork from the lab, quietly sitting down. 

“Nope.” He dragged on the P. 

The man hummed. “Are you sure? Natasha has been asking for you.” 

Peter smiled. “Are Doctor Banner and her together, still?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark looked up from the pieces he was trying to put together, glancing at Peter. “Did you have something to do with that?” 

“In a way.” He admitted, moving on the chair as to feel a little more comfortable. 

They worked in silence until six, when Peter took a break and pushed his chair a little farther from the desk to stretch his back, which had been complaining from staying the whole afternoon in the same position. 

Something clattered behind him. 

He didn’t have the time to turn to see what had happened, because Mr. Stark was behind him in a fraction of second. 

“Peter,” His voice came like a growl, making every hair of his body stand up to attention. “What are you wearing?” 

The younger man opened a small smile, throwing his ass out just a little. “Why don’t you find out, Mr. Stark?” 

Mr. Stark’s hand grabbed his hair, pulling him up from the chair and bending him over the table. That hand held Peter down by the neck while the other pulled his jeans roughly down, exposing the harness he wore in leeway of underwear. And, in the middle of his exposed ass, the ending of a rubber plug poked out, the whole around it glistening with a small amount of lube - the rest presumably  _ inside _ with the plug. 

Mr. Stark’s hand came down hard on his ass, making Peter whimper. “You thought I wouldn’t see this, Peter?” 

“Was hoping you did,” Peter’s voice was strained, and he tried to look around to see Mr. Stark’s expression. “Please, Mr. Stark,” 

“Please  _ what _ , Peter?” Another slap, hard, and his whole clenched around the plug. His moan was probably more animal than human, but Mr. Stark was squeezing his ass and it was all he could ask for. 

“Please, please  _ fuck me _ , Sir.” He asked, erection kicking, trapped inside the front part of the harness, which was a piece of leather covering, pressing on his hard cock. Pain he’d take eagerly for Mr. Stark to look at him like that. 

“You think you deserve my cock, Peter?” Just to hear the words coming from the man’s mouth, Peter shivered all over. 

“I’ve been good, Sir.” He tried to plead his case. “Good grades, learning things, looking pretty for you.” He shook his ass. “I’m ready.” 

“Seems like you are,” Mr. Stark agreed, hand playing with the end of the plug, looking hypnotized by it. 

“I should fuck you right here, mess you up over your desk until you can’t  _ walk _ ,” Peter didn’t bother suppressing the whimper that came from his lips at the thought. “But I’d rather have you upstairs. Mess up my bed real nice, so I can smell you on my pillow tomorrow night.” 

Peter was going to  _ explode _ . 

Mr. Stark pulled his pants up, not bothering to close them completely, and guided Peter by back of his neck to the elevator, ordering  _ straight up, Jarvis _ , but he couldn’t wait. He pushed Mr. Stark against the elevator’s wall and knelt in front of him, rubbing his face all over his erection through his jeans, able to smell him through the layers of fabric. 

“ _ Fuck _ , you needy thing,” He put his hand over Peter’s hair, his free hand dealing with the button and zipper of his jeans. “Come on, open up, I’ll give you a taste,” 

As soon as Mr. Stark’s erection was out of his pants Peter was on it, rubbing his face on it, licking it,  _ finally _ getting the taste he had been starving for. 

With Mr. Stark’s guidance he took the tip between his lips -  _ just _ the tip, because the man kept holding him back painfully by his hair, not allowing him more - sucking eagerly, tongue tracing the lines of the red head of his cock. He cursed once more when he saw the spit running down Peter’s mouth. 

“Literally salivating for it, come on,” He held Peter’s head by both sides. And, at first, he allowed Peter to take the lead, to test and open his throat, taking in as much flesh as he could in,  _ in,  _ **_in_ ** **,** until he couldn’t breathe, coughed and tried again, hands behind his back. 

Then he moved, inverting their positions so Peter’s head would be against the cold metal of the elevator and Mr. Stark just caressed his jaw tenderly. 

“Breathe through your nose and relax, baby,” He instructed. 

Peter, ever eager to follow his instructions, did just that, and was rewarded by the man’s cock coming and going from his mouth as the man started to fuck his face, using him like he  _ belonged _ to him, and  _ fuck _ if he didn’t. Peter had never belonged anywhere else more, on his knees, crying and struggling to breathe while Mr. Stark took his pleasure from him mindlessly, showering him with praises and filthy slurs that got him burning from the inside out. 

Elevator pinged almost silently and Mr. Stark stopped with a curse. 

“I wanna cum in your ass tonight, come on,” He pulled Peter by the arm and pressed him against the first wall he saw, kissing him,  _ kissing him _ , and Peter couldn't help but tame Mr. Stark’s hunger, getting his hands on his face, slowing the pace of the kiss, slow,  _ slow,  _ until the man growled, but kept on it, both ready to burst against each other. 

He pulled Mr. Stark’s shirt up, being helped, and right after it Mr. Stark did the same with Peter’s, clothes dropped on a trail on the floor as they walked, and kissed, and touched. 

Mr. Stark pushed him face first on his bed, hand going possessively to Peter’s ass, rubbing over the plug, pants forgotten on the way there. 

He played a little with it before slowly, _very_ _slowly_ , pulling it out. 

Peter bit his lip and moaned,  _ screamed _ when the larger part was pushed against his rim once more, testing,  _ playing _ , getting him as loose or as tight as Mr. Star wanted him. 

“Look at you,” Stark breathed, a finger coming to find its place beside the plug, stretching him even farther, and Peter  _ screamed,  _ overwhelmed into tears. “Such a pretty thing,” 

It was with unbridled joy that he watched as Mr. Stark got a bottle of lube and laid down on the bed on his back, invitingly so. 

“Come on, baby,” He called on Peter. “Come get what you want so bad.” 

If Peter hadn’t trained for this, he’d have lost his cool. As it was, he managed to crawl somewhat seductively towards Mr. Stark on the bed, settling over his thighs. 

The man lubed himself up, no condom - both he and Peter were regularly tested by the company for a great many things, STDs included - and just held himself there, letting Peter take the lead. At least for the moment. 

Peter didn’t need prompting. His body took over, music playing in his mind as memory dictated his movements. He guided Mr. Stark inside his body, slow, savouring every inch of the man that breached his body, and started to move. 

He held himself on the bed frame, hips undulating, twirling, learning just  _ why _ that felt so good, looked so seductive. Inside he felt himself burning, Mr. Stark’s cock rubbing on a place that made him scream, made him arch his back, made him melt and move and move and  _ move,  _ a little more animalistic with each time pleasure spiked through his spine. 

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Mr. Stark told him as he rounded his hips, kissing and kissing, “You’re the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen,” He said, and Peter suddenly wanted to give him  _ more _ . 

He let Mr. Stark slip out of him and turned around, fitting him in again, back to the man as he rode him as hard as he could. He could only  _ imagine _ how he looked around his cock, all wet and puffy and red from keeping that plug inside for so long, but  _ damn _ it all felt amazing, so fucking worth it. 

When he risked a twerk Mr. Stark lost his patience, pushing his hips up once, twice,  _ ten _ times, flesh slapping mercilessly, echoing around the room until Peter lost his balance and fell forward on his knees, Mr. Stark following to fuck him, properly  _ fuck _ him from behind, a hand on his neck, a growl of “ _ present for me, Peter, show me, _ ” guiding the younger man’s hands to pull his asscheeks apart for his viewing pleasure, and  _ this. _

This was heaven. Peter was sure of it. 

His orgasm came, quick and  _ hard _ , but Mr. Stark never stopped. He never  _ asked,  _ because there was no point. 

Peter was his to fuck, his to hurt, his to do whatever he wanted. He gave himself to the man like someone sells their soul to the devil, and he had no regrets. 

He was crying, he noticed absentmindedly, as Mr. Stark bent his body over Peters to lick the tears from his face, bite his cheek, bite his neck, marking his ownership of it all with teeth and saliva and tongue, possessing everything that Peter was like he rightfully did. 

“You cry so pretty,” He said, and punched another orgasm right out of his wrung-out body, fucking him through it, leaving him a sobbing mess on the bed. 

He came with a grunt and a few slaps later - to make his hole a little tighter, Peter wondered idly, floating still from his last orgasm - spilling it out inside him, outside him, just to fuck it in again. Another mess, now of lube and come. 

Peter probably fell asleep, because when he woke up to it, the sheets were clean underneath his body and the harness was off of his body. Completely naked and still a little out of it, he had a hard time identifying that what was keeping him from falling asleep was an insistent pressure on his asshole, trying to pry it open again. 

“Relax for me, baby,” Mr. Stark’s voice asked and Peter  _ did _ , allowing the plug to be pushed inside his body again, keeping all of Mr. Stark’s mess inside of him, where it belonged, too. 

Just like he belonged between the man’s arms, nestled against his chest, as they fell asleep that night. 

And if in the morning he woke up to the plug being pulled off and a cock pushed in, making a mess of his hole all over again until he cried and came and  _ came _ , well. 

Wasn’t that what heaven was made of? 

________________________________________________________________________________

He jumped from Mr. Stark’s limousine with a spring on his step and a smile on his lips, proudly wearing the Rolex on his wrist, the teeth marks on his neck. Marks of ownership, if he ever saw them. 

He felt filthy and divine all at once. 

Ned pushed a napkin onto his hands, smile amused as fuck. 

“You still got a little something on the corner of your mouth, Pete.” He said. 

Peter flushed, cleaning it up, dick giving a valiant twitch inside his pants. 

“I take it things are going well with your sugar daddy, then,” His friend teased. “If you’re on your knees sucking him off inside his car before nine in the morning, I mean.” 

Peter flushed harder, but he also couldn’t stop the smile from blooming on his lips. 

“It ain’t my fault, Ned.” Peter shrugged, feigning innocence. “I’m his best intern.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ned chuckled, walking with him as the bell rang. “Let’s just go to class, you lucky dumbass.” 

Peter grinned and followed, the aches around his body Mr. Stark’s phantom hand over his body, constant, a Northern Star to guide him back to him, always. 

And training that afternoon would be dancing, again. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed fast. 

_ Love you, Daddy.  _

There. That would earn him a few slaps, if he was lucky. 

And, honestly.

He was the luckiest motherfucker in all New York, because he had its King ready to give him the world on a silver platter. 

_ Love you too, baby _ , his phone pinged, as did his heart. 

Cause touching that man was like touching a star, or the sun. 

And Peter was right there with him, ready and willing to burn for him, with him, on him, for as long as he had.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope yall enjoyed it :) see you next time!


End file.
